


The Ground Remembers

by MajorEnglishEsquire



Series: Prompt Responses [14]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Bees, Crimes & Criminals, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Plants, Small Towns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 06:55:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18686410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajorEnglishEsquire/pseuds/MajorEnglishEsquire
Summary: Chuck Shurley is a berry farmer in his old hometown. His reputation for being a rebellious kid has followed him into adulthood as much as youth dogs his other old friends and classmates who dared to stay or return to the small community.One day, two handymen roll into town and, weirdly, they don't leave.





	The Ground Remembers

Usually when drifters roll into town, folks don’t get the opportunity to know them – most don’t _want to_ , in fact. They come in and make all kinda trouble and that trouble, more often than not, results in them overspending their pay at the bar and the liquor store and in the bad corner of town, the shoddy little neighborhood across the metaphorical ‘train tracks’ which is actually more of a creek where everybody’s granddaddy used to fish.

All the town knows the Winchesters, by now, though, because they blazed in and Hell came with them, making the mommas swoon and the preacher stern and all the boys their age spit in their general direction. And they ain’t even blowing all their money or whoring around or, it seems, _leaving_ any time soon. They look for work and they get it and they take their money and _come back for more work_ , running the risk that everybody remembers the local guys around these parts are often good-for-nothings.

Folks don’t like being seen for what they are around here. They like things the way they always was.

The old ladies rock in their chairs in front of the feed store and cross themselves and talk about how Cas, who was named for the angels, and grew up to make a successful business out of the bees on his family’s land, is all turned and twisted by that troublesome Dean Winchester. Castiel’s parents – “God rest their souls” – are doing a lively dance deep in each of their graves, to hear it told. Will nobody wake up and get right with The Lord in this age of Sin?

They hush up real good when Chuck exits the store with his groceries in hand, as there’s another young boy who doesn’t know how things is done _right_. The old ladies’ eyes follow him to his car and away and he’s well used to the pattern of things, so he knows they shake their heads and carry on the same way about him as they do the damn drifters. All the folks in town know Chuck was a good kid growing up, but moved to the city for college and got his heart broke (“by a _boy_ ,” they whispered, scandalized). He’s no better than the Winchesters, though he’s never met them or seen any more of them than their car. Much as he tries to keep a low profile, work his family’s farm, and even dated one of the Rosen girls, he’s no better’n those dusty bastards what slink into town in the night and leave in handcuffs or in debt.

That’s all they know of him. He’s been able to stay quiet the past few years. They don’t know Chuck took over the farm so his parents could retire to a community in Arizona, nice and peaceful-like, no more stooping and sowing and pruning and selling. No one knows he keeps them in comfort and bought the land next door because his profits have been so good. He still somehow ain’t _a farmer_ , what with his fancy degree and all, and how he ain’t humble and God-fearing and endlessly obedient all at once.

Gravest of sins, he ran for a seat on the town council. At less than the age of 50, people saw it as basically an ostentatious pretension to power. He got just as few votes as he thought he would and all it really did was convince everyone in town he was also too big for his britches. It wouldn’t ever have occurred to them that he wanted to help the town save money, like he’d learned to do on his own land, or crawl into the current century like him and Cas and Jo and Meg and a couple other younger people have managed, even out here in the sticks, on the dusty old farms their parents had left them.

Even with use of the added property he’s taken over, Chuck isn’t exactly a big-industry farmer, and he doesn’t imagine he ever will be. But he will admit to having some loopy dreams and maybe wanting to do more than just put money in savings. He kinda wants to make a name for his farm. Do something that hasn’t been done before. Honestly, he also just wants to do something interesting.

And, okay.  
He also kind of wants to defy everyone’s expectations.

He’s already doing well, but he wants the place he lives – this whole backwards-ass town – to retain its own, old soul, as grouchy and sticky and dusty as it may be. He doesn’t want to become another cog in the machine that’s already chock full of suburbs and Chipotles. He wants this place to have the kind of success that means it doesn’t have to bow to those things.

Of course he’s always wanted that. And it’s gotten him nowhere, he just gets kicked back in line and relegated to his own tiny sphere.

The few changes he’s made are proof that it can work, though, not just flukes resulting from years of persistence at rebelling against the status quo. They’re measured business decisions that have produced results.

Cas is doing that. He isn’t just about bees, he’s also about flowers, naturally, and that moved into him farming plants for landscaping. His are big and bushy, unlike the thin twigs places usually buy when initially landscaping around a new building. There’s quite a bit of development down the interstate and Cas is using his knowledge to farm things for aesthetics while his bees work to save the whole planet.

Jo and Meg went to school to make their family farms better – they got degrees related to what they grew up on, unlike Chuck, with his business major. They’re cashing in on crops of superfoods, importing and planting fruit from the Caribbean that no one’s even heard of, kale and tulsi basil, cassava and cancer-fighting foods. They study and plan and monitor their soil with some interns from a university. They couldn’t get kiwi to keep growing on their land but studied Chuck’s and found that he could work it successfully on his part of the creek, with the right pH already present – he has them to thank for a 31% increase from last year’s profits.

The soil acidity here has always been good for berries and that’s what Chuck has capitalized on – all organic. One of Meg’s interns came to take samples from the land he newly purchased and, well. There’s a certain kind of grape that may work there. So that’s what Chuck’s starting to wonder about: wine. This isn’t a prime climate for it, admittedly, but it’s something new and innovative and he’s gotta keep trying new shit or he’s gonna die going crazy in this samey-ass, stagnant town until they mow it over to build a Costco, an artificial lake, and a thousand condos.

If it weren’t for the trellises, Chuck wouldn’t have gone over to Cas’s place. He does buy local honey, but he usually only buys what Cas sells through the store. Somehow it feels weird to just walk next door and try to hand him cash for a jar. He doesn’t go out to the Novak’s land every week or anything and it isn’t an idea he relishes (he really just likes to keep to himself and assumes Cas feels the same), but the person he hired to build all the kiwi trellis was a drifter. One who’s come and gone. And Cas’s ‘dangerous’ boyfriend has built new ones for him, fixed his fence, raised a barn on the other side of town, and proved himself a capable carpenter in every instance. The townfolk groan about him as a person, but damned if they don’t keep forking over money for his work.

Chuck harvests by himself, waters by himself, works all the land by himself, as his land isn’t exactly massive—or at least it wasn’t so big as to be unmanageable before now. If he’s gonna do this, he’s gotta outsource at least some of the work. He can afford to, at this point, too, which is nice.

Cas offers iced tea to everybody, like you do if you were brought up in this town and anybody comes over to your place. He takes Chuck back out to the herb garden where there’s a charming new little set of chairs and they talk shop for a bit.

Chuck gets to his idea for a vineyard and Cas nods. “I’ve thought about that. Your new property edges ours—mine. On the east for a bit. Out there, you mean?”

“Yeah. They say the soil has what it needs-”

“The right ground conditions,” Cas squints into the sun. Cas is probably smart enough to know Chuck’s own reservations about the weather and climate but neither of them say it.

“So. I was wondering. Um, Dean? If he doesn’t have work at the moment or he’s just about to finish something, I was looking to see if I could offer him the work of setting things up. I could pay cash or he could invoice me. I don’t know how he works? But I can do whatever.”

Cas gives a grin. “Uh. He’s not much for invoices, but he is responsible and fast. He’ll do it right.” Cas nods out towards the field. “I’ll ask.”

When Chuck sees him for the first time, it’s absolutely no wonder the good Christian boy fell hard for this one. He’s a mile high and all muscle. Chuck’s mouth goes dry even seeing him from a distance.

As if it weren’t bad enough that Chuck was gawking at his neighbor’s boyfriend, Dean proceeds to throw his hair back and pause to chug some water from a beat-up gallon bottle, dousing his shirt and making it _cling_ in all the right places. His chest and abs, the rest of him already well soaked with sweat, even in the cool of spring. He must be out here working dawn to dusk.

Holy shit. He’s a... glowing, sun-kissed god out there under the warm light.

He’s mistaken about which brother it is, though. “Sam,” Cas says. “I know he’s looking for work, so he might take you up on it if Dean’s not finished with Turner’s old silo. He’s been across the road most the week.”

Sam, then. Not Dean.

“S-tha-that’s um. If you already know Sam’s looking for-for _work_ , I mean-I well, I-” Chuck snaps his mouth shut to stop the nonsense. Blinks. Takes a breath. Drinks some of his iced tea.

Cas is quiet but he’s not the most polite motherfucker around. Other folks might be fooled, but Chuck went to grade school with him and he’s always had this judgey eye-squint/all-knowing head-tilt thing he does.

They’re quiet for a moment and Chuck hears buzzing and tries not to freak and flail about it. He’s never been good with bugs, even though he knows bees are the best of all bugs and he owes Cas’s, in particular, quite lot.

“The kiwi flowers have done something to the southern hives,” Cas says, seeming to just mention it offhand. “Their honey has changed somewhat and it’s not unpleasant. Come on, then. I’ll introduce you.”

He’s saying ‘thanks, I’ll help hook you up with the hot guy’ without actually saying so out loud.  
Country talk is like that sometimes.

The sun beats down on Chuck as they make their way across the field to where Sam is working on the irrigation. It’s easy to pretend his palms are sweating more because of the sun and the long walk.

Sam turns at some point and sees them coming. He stops to splash water on his hands and pat them off, pull his hair together and tie it up tight at the back of his head.

He squints and waves once. “Hey.”  
And then he smiles. Dear God in Heaven, he _smiles_.

“Sam. This is my neighbor.”

“Chuck,” he supplies for himself, waving once, too. But Sam comes forward, stepping over hoses to shake his hand.

“Hey.”

He smells sweaty and radiates his own heat. He’s lined in dirt and shiny-wet all over and basically what you visualize when you first see that ‘save a horse, ride a cowboy’ bumper sticker, and think it’s a bit clever and hot.

He looks hot, at least. His hand grips like it’s probably pretty clever.  
( _Holy. Shit_.)

“He has some work, if you’re interested. I know you’re experimenting. He might be able to use your new irrigation scheme better over on his side, too. He has better access to the creek, anyway.”

“Oh,” Sam perks. “Yeah? That could be cool. Um. What kinda work?”

Thankfully Cas does most the talking for him because Chuck stands there just wanting to wrap his lips around-  
The gallon of water and fucking drown himself because walking outside his own back door to see this guy working for him each day is going to be a special kind of torture.

Somewhere in there Sam agrees to come over before sunset to see what the land looks like, how much material he might need, and give him some kind of estimate for the labor.

Chuck nods and vaguely thanks him and says to just come around back if he doesn’t answer the door.

At least he... thinks he manages to mention that. Or he’s, like, pretty sure he does. He’s in Cas’s kitchen handing over his glass of nothing but ice before he knows it.

The window is open and a bit of wind chills the sweat all on his back from the beat of the sun.

He tries to snap out of it.

Cas hands him two tiny samplers of honey. “So you can taste the difference your work has made for me. I really appreciate it.” He leans back on his kitchen counter and crosses his arms. “He is, by the way.”

“S. Uh. Sorry?” Chuck shakes his head.

“Single and interested in men. He is. Sam, I mean.” Cas gets through it slowly, waiting for Chuck to catch up.

“Oh. That’s nice.” His voice is so high he should try out for the church choir again.

Cas gives him a look like he’s being hilarious.

“Okay.”

“And I should add that he’s a good man. Just in case any of the town rumor has made its way to you. Dean has his moments of hellraising, but Sam is... he’s always kept his brother in check.” Cas shrugs a little. “He’s on the... nerdy side. And he’s a good man and it would be cruel to. Well.” Cas sighs. “Make a night of it and just-”

“I should go.”

Cas laughs a little. “Thanks for stopping by.”

Chuck doesn’t move yet. He decides after a thinking about it for a minute. “If this works and it tastes like wine and not just garbage then. I’ll um. You’ll get one of the first bottles. Thanks.”

Cas sniffs once. Nods. “If this works, you can just remember me when it comes time to name your firstborn-”

“Okay.”

Cas laughs but shows him out through the front like a gentleman.

«»

He’s pruning, in the blessed shade of the house, when Sam rounds the corner and finds him.

“Oh,” he says out loud.

“Hey,” Sam says. “Catch you at a bad time?”

“Um, no. Perfect time.” Chuck looks around the vines he’s working on and up and to Sam’s eyes, able to see them for the first time, not squinting in the sun. Only the light is just right as dusk is coming on and some of the chimes hanging up around the roof and trees throw shards of sunbeams and-

His eyes are green. Bright green and glowing. His features are scrubbed clean, calm and kind.

It pulls forth this... weird smile from Chuck. This strange, full-body acceptance. Sam’s arms are corded like the vines Chuck tends to. Healthy and solid. Sam is a big growing thing with sun-kissed skin, lightly curious, lean and strong.

Cas has to have been right. Not just another foul-mouthed drifter but – Heaven help him – a fine young man making his way in the world off the strength of his back. Here and ready to help.

Chuck turns to put his shears down and yank off his gloves, pull on his hat because he’s tired of burning the tips of his ears, even when he thinks it’s safe outside. He knows he’ll burn, soon enough, and then get a tan going before summer sets back in, but he does _try_.

“We have a bit of a walk,” Chuck nods down the way.

“Sure.”

Sam keeps pace with him as they go.

“So you wanna tell me some more about the plan? A vineyard?” Sam prompts.

Chuck is concentrating on his footing across this land he’s still getting familiar with. If he’s not staring at Sam it seems he can process his thoughts just fine. So he explains some.

He’d marked out the land, working with the intern, and decided how much property he was willing to risk on this gamble. He’s kept the surrounding ground pretty clear so nobody would tromp on any new plantings as they erected the trellises, but nearer the existing crops he’s already got alternating rows – strawberries, with onions between them to keep the bugs at bay. Something new he’s trying.

Sam wants to go down to the creek and discovers it isn’t very ‘down’ at all. It’s pretty good, even land, if a little wasted and rocky in some places.

He squints back off towards the house. “Just you out here?” Sam asks.

“Mm. Uh. Yeah. I hire help, occasionally. Usually students. But upkeep and harvest is mostly me.”

Sam looks like he’s gonna make another observation about the irrigation or something, maybe the grape project, but he stops. “It’s really beautiful out here. I mean, most the town is beautiful and Cas’s place is great with all the bees and all the life but. This is. The air smells sweet here, like those trees just filter everything out and funnel in the cool air and it picks up in the plants and-” he stutters to a halt. “It’s just. Really nice.” Sam looks down to him.

“Thanks,” he grins up. He should ask if that means Sam would be okay with hanging out here for a few weeks, working here and all. He should go on about what they’re out here for.

But that isn’t what he wants to say. He just kinda wants to.  
Invite Sam in and tell him to take a load off. Relax and chill and maybe have dinner.  
Before they’re out here working together and they see one another at their drippy, sweaty, smelly worst.

It’s then that he realizes. The soil is good, but it isn’t perfect. He’s researched, but he doesn’t have hands-on experience. He’s blowing money on something that isn’t sure, if he goes through with this. The whole investment could be for nothing. If it sours the earth somehow or draws in unusual bugs, it could mean his entire crop. The climate isn’t what it should be.

“This is such a stupid idea,” he admits. He bites the inside of his cheek and looks off, opposite the setting sun, so his eyes don’t sting. “God, this is dumb. I don’t- I can’t do this. I shouldn’t do this. It probably won’t work.”

He hears Sam hesitate for a second. Hears him kick around in the dirt. Chuck sighs and starts slowly making his way back.

“It could. You won’t know until you try,” Sam says.

Chuck stops and turns.

“Cas said this was new. That you didn’t have this space last year. But I mean. If you did well enough that you could earn it and buy it? You probably have enough leeway, financially, to try this out. Even if you keep the rows around it clear, just in case. Worse comes worse you...” Sam shrugs. “At least you finally know. You did the work and found out. It’s better than always wondering.”

Chuck winces and kicks at a stone. Right here at the point of investing in the materials and really setting the plan in motion, he doesn’t know if he can pull the trigger.

You know, maybe the old folk were always right. Maybe he always was just too different, too big for his britches.

He stops when he notices that Sam hasn’t followed. He turns back and watches him pace out the width of the space that Chuck’s reserved for the project. There’s craggy soil at each corner of the lot, and those twisty, reaching old trees not far off.

Sam seems to measure and survey, picks up a handful of dirt and comes back by way of the creek.

He shoves his hands in his pockets and comes up beside Chuck. “Wanna hear my plan?”

Chuck can’t look him in the eye. “Sure,” he sighs.

“I’ll give you an estimate for just the trellises, extending your existing irrigation, and leave it at that. Or I can do that estimate, plus you can let me experiment with the system that I’ve been working on; I’ll install everything you wanted, plus the thing I wanted to try out, because it won’t work on Cas’s land, and since it’s a test run – all of it, a test run – I’ll only charge you for the new system if you wanna keep it at the end of the season.”

It’s getting cold outside, still early enough in spring for the temperature to drop pretty significantly.

Chuck can’t think when he looks up at Sam. Sam’s... gorgeous and earnest.

“I’m gonna make this work for you. It’ll be better than you even thought it would be and you aren’t taking more of a financial risk than you were just buying the land. Come on,” Sam presses.

This won’t be the last time Sam convinces him to think with his heart just as much as his head.

«»

Good vines take years.

Wine is gonna be years down the road and he knows it, but it’s hard to imagine it taking so long when spring is turning into summer and hardy, healthy plants are already flourishing, creeping further up Sam’s trellises, daily.

For breakfast and forty dollars a day, Sam comes over each weekday morning and sticks around, helping with the berries, pruning and planting, until noon. Chuck doesn’t like to be out in the heat of midday and he’s gonna be getting up earlier and going to bed later as the summer gets hotter. He tends to block out the middle of the day to do paperwork and rest some. It’s a strange schedule to keep, but he didn’t spend a lifetime out on the farm with his folks. They expected him to go to school and get a degree and that’s what he did.

The whole thing where he turned around and bought the farm from them? Totally unplanned. After the weird disillusionment and heartbreak of college, the intensity of his work and the social demands of it, the farm just seemed idyllic. It seemed like someplace he’d get to live quiet and alone and far from anyone else who could hurt or use him.

And then?  
He sighs.

Then he goes and invites Sam over every damn morning for a full four-hour block (which he usually overstays) and then he learns all about Sam and how truly good and kind and wholesome he is (it shouldn’t even be possible – he’s a _drifter_ ) and then one morning they’re eating breakfast on the back porch and watching the sunrise and he looks over and Sam is closer than he thought he was. And he’s happy with his half-assed breakfast bowl. And he found out Chuck tried to get on the town council.

And he tells Chuck to run again instead of making fun of him for it.

And Chuck can’t say, _I can’t – the town is close-minded and I’m queer and sad and the only person who makes me happy is going to leave town eventually and I’m, like, super falling in-love with you._

He picks his fork back up and scoops through his bowl and shrugs, instead.

Sam knocks his shoulder into him a little. “I’d vote for you. You’re smart with your money. You’re careful. You’re working against the established assumptions. You’re willing to try new things. This town kinda needs that.”

“That’s one vote from someone who isn’t on the voter rolls. I’m reeling in the support, here, clearly.”

“Donno,” Sam chews. “This Dean n’ Cas thing,” he seems to mull them over for a moment. “Dean actually asked me a couple weeks back if I’d be willing to look into getting an apartment on my own or something.” Sam sets his bowl aside to itch the back of his neck. “I um. I donno. I started looking at trailers. Not many apartments in town. Just the one road, really.”

Chuck tries not to freeze like a startled squirrel.

He has to clear his throat. Sip water. Clear his throat again. “So you’re- you’re thinking of sticking around?”

“Honestly, it would depend if I could get steady work out here.” Sam laughs under his breath a little. “You’re really the only steady thing in my life right now.”

He knows he is frozen and staring. Because he startles and goes back to his eggs when Sam looks down at him.

At the end of the day, Chuck thinks that’s it, really. That they’ll go on like this for a while until Sam throws together some kind of licensed irrigation company. Or maybe leaves town.

He thinks that’s it. Because they go on with their work, their breakfasts and chatting about the kind of work Sam does on the other farms across town. Sometimes he even brings gossip. Well. Not really _gossip_ , but he explains the troubles the other farmers are having and pointedly wonders aloud if Chuck would know how to fix that if, say, he were _on the town council_ or something.

One morning, Sam’s late.

Chuck doesn’t let it bother him. (Sike!! He worries _a whole fucking lot_.) But it gets to be an hour and a half late and he just ventures out into the field, himself, before all the cool overnight temps have burned off, and Sam comes around the fence at a jog, panting and apologizing.

“You okay?” Chuck puts his shears down to come bring Sam a fresh bottle of water.

Sam nods and tosses his jacket, chugs half the bottle. “Uh. Dean got arrested.”

Chuck blinks. That’s not right. Just when he was starting to think of them as not-drifters, they go and do some drifter shit that’ll make all the old crows in town go on and on about how awful they are?

“Is he- is he still there, or?”

“Cas and me bailed him out but. Ugh.” Sam is clearly trying to contain his disgust.

Chuck wants him to take a moment to breathe, so he goes over and climbs to sit on the fence and wait him out.

Sam kicks at the soil for a second and scratches at the back of his neck. Takes another chug. “Cas was having some problems with one of the places that contracted him for—for- for those, like, lawn-sculpture quality bushes, you know? The real nice landscaping ones. He shipped the flowers and they didn’t bother to plant the flowers in good time so they sent back the whole dead batch. He sent over the sapling magnolias and they killed those, too. He was gonna cancel the contract, you know? Too many red flags. But they convinced him to go ahead with the shrubbery and-” Sam tosses a hand. “They started talking about filing lawsuits and shit. Cas has had a lawyer on his front lawn every damn day. Dean just had enough of it. It’s only been a few weeks but he. He snapped.”

“ _Snapped?_ ”

“Really it was just some... uh. Creative vandalism,” Sam fudges kindly. “They must have hired an investigator. They pinned it on him and hauled him off last night.”

This sucks. Cas was doing well, but he wasn’t rolling in dough. Having to pay Dean’s bail probably cleaned Sam out, and likely bit into Castiel’s recent profits.

(And worse: it risks being a factor in running the Winchesters out of town, which many of the old codgers would be glad to see happen, fulfilling all their usual assumptions about _bad breeding_ and _filthy drifters_. And seductive dudes who like dudes. Oh, god.)

Chuck reaches out and touches Sam’s shoulder. “Hey. Just tell me if there’s anything I can do. Like, _anything_.”

Sam gives him a long look. “There’s nothing. Nothing that a _future town council member_ should get wrapped up in. You can’t have a black mark like this on your record.”

“Fuck that,” he scoffs, “I’m not watching you all go down in flames just for a theoretical second run that I have no chance of winning. Sam. Seriously. I want to help. Cas is my... friend.” He supposes. “And so are you. We also can’t let some corporate assholes win,” he knocks his fist into Sam a little. “Right?”

There’s something he can do. Chuck can tell. Because Sam hesitates.

Chuck stalls over his next words, too. Because this is the south and he knows it could be insulting, even to out-of-towners. “If it’s... Sam, if Dean could use it, I could spot some cash-”

He’s waved off as quickly as he thought he’d be.

But there’s still something. Chuck hops down and follows as Sam wanders off, thinking.

Sam wanders all the way down to the creek and Chuck finally touches his elbow and turns him. “An alibi. What about that? I can be an alibi.”

“That’s.” Sam sighs. “That’s exactly what I was thinking. But it’s selfish.”

“I’m the one offering.”

“No, I mean it’s selfish that I can’t ask- I don’t _want_ to ask, I-” he winces and kicks a stone into the creek. “I don’t want to ask you for anything. I don’t want there to be obligations on either side of us. Because. Because I.” He blows out a breath. “I like you?”

He says it so carefully.  
But, still. He says it.

“O-oh,” Chuck blinks.

Sam winces.

“That’s cool. That’s—ah.” Chuck tries to think of a word that’s better than ‘cool’ and more chill than ‘fully reciprocated’ and all his years of education fucking fail him. “What I. That’s what I was-”

“Afraid of?”  
“-hoping for,” they speak over each other.

But clearly Sam hears what he said.

Because his eyes go soft and wondering and his arms drop from being crossed. “Oh.”

“Hi?” Chuck responds nonsensically.

“Hey,” Sam smiles some. “Good morning. Didn’t mean to run in and-”

“It’s fine. You were at the sheriff’s all night, weren’t you? Look. Sam. Use me as an alibi. I’m fine with it. Whatever story you need. Go back and get some sleep, now, and bring me whatever you need to for evidence that Dean was here. Maybe we all had a poker night. Bring over some beers and some cards and I’ll... I’ll, like, set up my kitchen table and I can post to Instagram like, ‘wild night with the boys’ or some shit, you know?”

He looks so worried. “Are you really fucking sure? You have to be totally sure.”

“I’m totally sure,” he says in that breathless way that doesn’t conceal at all that he’s utterly infatuated with the man he’s talking to. “I don’t want this to happen to you guys. And Cas doesn’t deserve that shit, either, so I can understand what Dean was getting at. I don’t- I don’t want this to run you guys off,” he admits.

Sam just. Stares. “I already... mentioned that I like you, right?”

Chuck smiles and manages to stop just short of asking if Sam wants to use his own bed to rest up before they commit obstruction of justice.

«»

The alibi works insofar as the Sheriff sends Garth, perpetually the greenest deputy alive, over to his house to ask him questions about who was at his house to play poker and exactly what time they all got together. Like, the questioning is way more detailed than that. And weirdly so. But Chuck doesn’t like reliving any moment he has to spend in Garth’s company. It’s one thing going through life awkward, it’s entirely another when you’re forced to take part in the awkwardness of others.

Garth gives him a sticker on his way back to his patrol car. A little ‘buckle up for safety’ sticker. He’s just that kinda guy.

Chuck doesn’t wanna be seen heading over to Cas’s place to enjoy their corroboration in this cover-up, so he has to wait until Monday to see Sam and hear about whether or not it seems to have worked. That’s agonizing because he’s anxious for Dean and.

Well.

He’s also kinda waiting with complete impatience to see if, once this whole thing has blown over, Sam will come back to him and resume the topic of how there’s a mutual “I like you” situation going on between them.

Monday comes. And the morning comes. And then it passes. And then the afternoon passes.

Nothing. He hasn’t seen Sam cross the fields to get to his place, or drive up in the Winchesters’ big, black car. He doesn’t have phone numbers for either of the brothers, but Cas hasn’t called or texted either.

He doesn’t know what kind of move to make, here. There are all kinds of things that could have gone wrong. Of course, it could be that it’s going just fine, and to avoid suspicion, they have to avoid Chuck, so it doesn’t look like they’re conspiring or something.

Chuck is anxious, but one weekend and one Monday, in the big scheme of things, really means nothing.

He checks if it’s some kinda holiday, today, like one he might have forgotten because he doesn’t really bother with—

It’s not a holiday. There wasn’t a holiday this weekend.

He knows Cas has an Insta and a Twitter, but he uses them mainly for advertising. There have been no updates to either.

Chuck decides to chill. If he’s swept into the scandal of a cover-up, after all, he’s sure he’ll hear about it when Garth comes back over to politely-yet-sternly handcuff him and take him into town.

He wants to believe there’s no reason to worry. So he tries that for a while.

Sam doesn’t come on Tuesday.  
Sam doesn’t come on Wednesday.

«»

Chuck has to go into town on Thursday just for more groceries and definitely not to circle back around the long way and see if he can spot Dean, Cas, or Sam working on the farm from the road.

He’s so preoccupied, he gets half-way there and realizes he forgot to pick up his order of boxes; has to turn around and go back and then, ironically, almost runs the single stoplight in town when Garth waves at him from the front of the hardware store.

Back along their back roads, not only is Castiel’s farm empty of its residents, but.

The car is gone.

That big, telltale, hulking beast is gone from what has become its usual spot out front.

It could be in the shed – the small building is all locked up tight, just like the barn and the house and everything else Chuck can see.

He rolls his car to a stop. Scrambles to pretend he’s checking his phone. And keeps going towards home. Sam mentioned the company might have hired an investigator. He doesn’t want to be seen lurking there, waiting for his co-conspirators.

Chuck sits in his driveway for a few minutes running through all the scenarios. The likely and unlikely. The good and bad.

Really, if he’s not fooling himself, if he’s being completely honest, Cas is quiet in his house or working in the barn. And Dean and Sam have left. Because that’s what drifters do when the heat’s on.

They drift away.

He thinks about it. About how he could be assuming too much. He thinks about how it could be that all three of them were dragged off to jail. Or all three of them have run away from this silly town together. Or he just passed them on the way in and it’s all just bad luck and he’ll see the car when he drives by tomorrow.

Sometimes, when Cas has to leave town, his sister Anna comes to tend to the bees for him. He could wait and see if Anna shows up. Or he might have missed her. Or the shitty corporate goons have run Cas off his land and taken possession of his farm. Or.

Chuck hits the steering wheel without thinking about it. Hard enough to hurt and, shortly thereafter, feel really fucking stupid.

After a deep breath, he admits that the simplest answer is the right one.

The Winchesters have gone. No use in staying in town where there’s trouble blowing around. The best way Dean can keep out of jail is to just not be here.

Yeah.

Come Saturday, when Chuck’s clacking off the outside lights and having a beer, watching the bees circle once more before heading home, he thinks he might actually accept that was the end of everything.

He might even accept that life is gonna go back to normal. And that he’ll be alone here. And that it will be just fine.

«»

It’s the middle of the second week and it’s not the end of the world.

Everyone who has ever liked Chuck has left. His 8th grade girlfriend went to a magnet program for high school and he never saw her again. His boyfriend quit college and ran across the country to be an actor. Every other crush he’s ever had has found someone else and barely had time to speak to him. It should be a relief that he didn’t get invested in Sam too far beyond the infatuation stage.

But then he keeps remembering that it wasn’t unrequited. And it crushes him a little.

Chuck might be so young that the crotchety old townies reject him as an elected official, but he’s old enough to have come to the conclusion, already, that he was probably meant to be alone. He was getting comfortable with it just being himself. He wasn’t blaming himself too much for those who had left- they had different paths and this is the one he jumped on. That’s all. That’s life.

For a while there, he didn’t feel totally broken and unlovable.  
And it sucks that he’s just rediscovered that he is.

Sam isn’t tied to his brother; he could have stuck around if he wanted to. He wasn’t the one in legal trouble. If Chuck had been worth sticking around for, Sam would have. Or at least he would have left word about where he was going.

That leads to the obvious conclusion: Chuck wasn’t enough.

He’s on his third beer run in as many days when he bumps into Meg. They stop and buy peanuts and sit out in the little town square. They talk about the interns graduating and buying up land nearby. She’s interested in the irrigation system Sam built.

“Heard Castiel ran off with his hot handyman,” she grins, leaning back over the little fountain like she’s gonna dunk her head in. “Can’t believe he gave up on this place. I mean. I can believe it out of plenty of the people we went to school with, but not him. I thought his heart was in it. He sure did... love those damn bees,” she snorts.

Chuck hadn’t actually realized before this moment that his heart hadn’t crashed through the bottom of his gullet yet. “You heard Cas sold it?” he tries not to sound as dazed as he is.

She shrugs. “Seen Anna around town. I didn’t wanna seem like I was waiting for her to put it on the market or nothing, but,” Meg gives him a significant look.

Chuck circles back around to the liquor store again. The clerk tuts at him for buying another sixer before heading back home, but that only makes him grab some rum and add it to the total. He’s always been good at ignoring what comes out of folks’ mouths around here.

«»

In the morning, he thinks maybe he’ll go over and visit Cas’s garden one more time before it goes to pot or is sold off and fenced away from the likes of him.

He finishes up work and decides to walk over. There are still no cars out front.

Chuck knocks on the front door, not at all surprised when there’s no answer.

Beneath his idle curiosity, the drumbeat of failure and worthlessness stomps on.

Him and Cas were okay neighbors. They’d check on one another in storm season and Cas would come to check out where his bees ended up searching for flowers, sometimes. He liked to follow them and study where they went – you know, that’s what he _said_ , but sometimes Chuck got ‘nervous parent’ vibes off of Cas so he always made sure to warn him when he was trying new seed variants and always went to him if he needed a different organic method of pest control.

Chuck supposes he could have invited him over to binge the occasional TV show, or share beers or maybe a meal. He could have tried to be a real friend to him.

It was the memories that made him uncomfortable. There are few people around town whom he esteems. People he went to school with, mostly, the ones who came back or stuck around to do what he did. He cares for them as people and he cares for their opinions because what they’re doing is helping sustain this little farming community. But he was generally afraid of being stuck in strictly social situations with them because, what if they started basing his input on budgets and sales and town politics and all the serious shit, on the dumb things he’d spouted out as a kid? It would be humiliating. He was a jerk as a kid.

If he thinks about it, he’s probably been enough of a jerk up until now to warrant how Cas and the Winchesters left without a sound.

Chuck circles the house and goes to the bench that Dean built under a beautiful, new arched trellis that already has flowers creeping up the sides. His carpentry really is amazing, just like Sam’s brilliant irrigation on both farms.

It’s a kick in the gut that both of them could have done well, here. They could have picked up plenty of work, enough to make a name and establish some kind of reputable business that would aid all the farms here and probably the surrounding towns.

Chuck kinda wants to drive to the fancy glass building of that big, corporate sack of shit. Uproot any of the brittle, imported landscaping they managed to throw into the ground, then hang out the back of his pick-up getting drunk, tossing his empties at the shiny windows.

Corporate America wasn’t supposed to win this round and he feels like they did. He’s never gonna get elected for a seat, here, anyway, so why not go full punk to his heart’s desire and see if he can’t get arrested for pissing in their planters?

Chuck brought a scarf. The buzzing freaks him out and he has to pull the scarf up around his ears so he won’t swat at the bees. He’s learned to be really careful about that.

He doesn’t know so much about bees. But. Maybe he knows just enough.

Fuck it – whether it’s him or it’s Meg, no matter what, he can’t let some faceless company buy this farm. These bees. All this beautiful work.

When he goes home, he pulls up Cas’s website and social media. There have been no updates. He sets up some Google alerts for the property by name and by address and by anything else he can think of so he can know when it’s on the market.

It will definitely be more than he can afford. But he can get a loan and he can try to become better friends with Meg and Jo and their next round of university interns. He can try to make this work. He’ll be burnt to a crisp. He’ll be working 18, 20 hours a day. He’ll have to hire people (probably goddamn drifters). But he’ll make it work.

Instead of sad and drunk, he’s angry and drunk that night. It doesn’t bode well. The anger makes him headachey and he’ll be a hungover wreck in the morning. But the berries need tending and the grapes are gonna grow. He has to get out and do this. Even if he’s got nobody, he’s still got a mission. Maybe he’ll be so wildly successful that the next person he likes will fall in love with him. Will want to work with him. Will stick it out and change this town with him.

Or maybe he’ll be drunk off his own wine supply, branded the crazy old coot who lives up the road, and every attractive person on earth will steer clear by a mile.

But whatever. It’s something. It’s what he’s got.

«»

He does wake up with a hangover. It’s bad enough that he snoozes his alarm and resigns himself to working through the heat of the entire day.

At least when he finally goes to have breakfast, there’s no nausea and he can eat. He needs fuel enough in his body to go work. And maybe three cups of coffee before he can even think about stepping foot outside.

A good many bees are there to greet him when he comes out and he refreshes the shallow water in the little bird bath he set up because Cas taught him that bees get thirsty from travelling long distances just like people do.

He pulls on his hat and gloves and almost runs into Sam coming around the corner of the house. “Geeze!”

“Oh my god,” Sam puts his hand out. “Sorry!”

“Oh my god,” Chuck echoes him. “You were- where- wha-where have you _been?!_ ”

“I am _so fucking sorry!_ ” Sam has both hands up, “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to skip out on you completely! Dean hijacked us! We- I—I mean it’s not that I couldn’t get out of the car, I-”

“You were all gone!” Chuck’s heart is still rabbiting from the shock. “Where are- is Cas back?? Is Dean- he _hijacked_ you?”

“God,” Sam tries to blow his hair out of his face and then shakes his head and uses both hands to push it away and makes a ‘wait’ motion. He stops and gathers his thoughts. “I’m sorry. I’m super fucking sorry. They dismissed the charges-”

“It worked?!”

“It worked,” Sam grins. “Thank you. You were perfect. You were amazing. The judge had the charges dismissed even though the company didn’t want it. The judge was satisfied and all. He didn’t give the bail money back but Dean, he- he, yeah, _kidnapped_ both me and Cas,” he laughs. “He said we were going to the Native casino to go win the money back but. Well he drove through the night and we were almost to Vegas? So when we woke up, he pulled over and proposed to Cas on the side of the road and they. They just,” Sam shrugs, seemingly still baffled. “We pushed on to Vegas and they got married. And.” Sam laughs again, happy and shaking his head in amazement. “Cas won all their money back. And then some. He’s got some sort of—well. Honestly, I think he was counting cards? But whatever he did. They um. They bought a nice little ceremony and rings and all and enough money for Dean to build a garage for the house now that—I mean. Now that, I guess, he’s living there?”

“Holy shit. That’s... that’s fucking amazing?” Chuck laughs. “Are you for real?”

“Dude. So real. I can’t believe he- and the-the cameras weren’t installed on the building yet, so they can’t pin the charges on him. And Cas just- he’s gonna let Dean live there, now, I mean,” he laughs and rolls his eyes at himself, “of course he will, they’re married, but _they got married_ and it was amazing and I... well, I didn’t really make all that much in Vegas, but Cas got messages while we were out, so I have some work! And so maybe I can stay in town, too if-” he hesitates.

And then he stops.

“I-” he looks caught out.

And Chuck gets it.

On the other side of seeing the happy couple find each other, get a victory, win money for their marriage, and tie the knot, he came back hopeful for his own prospects and all he did was.

Well. Run into Chuck.

He knows he’s not impressive. Knows he’s not worth sticking around for.

And he should be able to release Sam from the obligation of the thing they said, but, you know, _didn’t fully say_. It doesn’t mean they’re a thing. It doesn’t mean shit.

(God, he’d really _hoped_ , but-)

“That’s great. I mean, so you have- so you can, like, stand on your own two feet, you know?” Chuck nods. “Is, um-. They’re not kicking you out right away, are they?”

“Well. They are. I mean, they had some of their honeymoon in Vegas,” he rolls his eyes, “ugh, it was insufferable. But um. They kinda- well. I don’t exactly have anyplace to stay. And I know they’ll want the house to themselves anyway. They were already kinda hinting at it.”

The moment swells with expectation. And Chuck doesn’t know which way it leans. Is he supposed to... recommend a place? Or. Or offer his own?

Sam looks off after a minute and. “We, um. I’m behind on work, here.”

“Yeah. I was, um. Running late this morning.”

“I mean, I was away almost two weeks. I can work this weekend to help you catch up with everything,” Sam offers.

“No, you know, it’s not so bad. I don’t wanna take up your weekend.”

Sam nods, tight-lipped. “Yeah. Guess I’ll need that for apartment hunting or. Or something.”

Yeah.  
God, they’re dancing around everything they’re saying. Both of them stuttering messes.

Sam takes a step back and pats his pockets. He ties his hair back like he does when he’s about to get back to work. A pause and a restart.

Shit.

Before he can bundle it all up, Chuck reaches to touch his arm. “Hey. Sam. Um.”

He looks down and Chuck feels _pinned_ in place.

“Look, Sam. I don’t want you to feel like you have to—uh. Like you have to anything, like,” he stumbles over the words. Closes his eyes and stops. “I want you to have all the opportunities you need, and whatever, so. Don’t. Don’t think that I hold you to.” He opens his eyes. “ _You know_.” He wordlessly begs not to have to say it.

Sam looks away. Purses his lips and shifts back one more step. “Uh, you mean. Like after you thought about it, you _don’t_ ,” Sam tries to clarify, not wanting to say it, either.

“No-no. Not that. Just. _If you don’t_. That’s all I mean.”

Sam reaches to lean on the side of the house. “So. You don’t mean- you don’t mean that me disappearing was so fucking inexcusably rude that you think I’m a flake, now. You mean that if I ch-... _changed my mind?_ ” he tries to clarify.

Chuck nods.

Sam sniffs and he nods, too.

He watches Sam for a moment. Watches him close off. Chuck’s heart sinks again.

It was the right thing to do, but.  
Fuck if it doesn’t hurt.

“I,” Sam hesitates and reaches to put his hair up. “I didn’t change my mind. If you didn’t change your mind then??” He drops his arms and shrugs.

“Uh,” Chuck reels. “Then. Then- I. Then, I guess. Do you...” oh dear god, “do you need somewhere to sleep?”

Sam looks off into the distance. Then finally claps eyes with him. “... Yeah?”

“Oh, god,” Chuck realizes something. “I. Well, I’m not your employer anymore, then, because that would be weird and gross.”

“Ah. Um. I... well, as much as I could use the money, I mean, you’re right.”

“Oh my god!!” Chuck steps back. “Holy shit, you said yes.”

Sam laughs a little again. He looks relieved. “I did win _some_ cash in Vegas. And I could contri-”

“No, dude, no.”

“Okay,” he huffs a breath. “So.” Grinning, he comes back over to corner Chuck against the side of the house. “Test me out?”

“Test?” Chuck knows his voice is a little high.

“Lemme stay today. Past noon. And past then. And see if maybe...” he trails off. Smiles more. Reaches to take Chuck’s hat off and come kiss his cheek. Then sets his hat back on and takes his gloves from him, helps him wriggle his fingers in. “Okay?”

O-fucking-kay.

«»

A sweaty day of work on a farm makes a stinking mess of everyone. Even Sam, though kinda _transcendently sun-kissed and beautiful_ , is in need of a run-through with the hose and then a long shower, followed by a good half-hour in a dark room just guzzling water.

They sit, zoned-out, in front of the TV for a while until they’re finally saturated. Chuck reaches for the lamp and starts to wonder if there’s some kind of appropriate food that isn’t just leftovers in his fridge. He’s... pretty sure all he has is frozen dinners, to be honest.

“I think,” Sam starts with some gravity, “I should... definitely take you out. To um. To dinner. If that’s cool?”

Chuck blinks. “That’s. That’s way cool.”

Sam sits up and the couch kinda tilts because it’s not used to someone so big. “Oh, sorry,” Sam cringes.

“I think you should really stop apologizing for daring to exist.”

“Oh, I know. It’s just, you know, the _gall of it_. Of me being twice the size of normal humans,” at least Sam can laugh at himself.

Slowly, and broadcasting his intent, Chuck sits forward a little, too, and touches Sam’s arm. Hot skin, thick muscles and amazing definition. Textured veins and, down at the inside of his wrist, a softness. Chuck rubs his thumb there and smiles.

Sam watches this until he moves to gather Chuck’s hand and hold it, unwavering. Not a tentative movement or an unsure grip. He looks at Chuck and then he smiles, too. “Cas has told me a lot about you. How much you’ve changed since he knew you as a kid and how you kinda haven’t. And he also told me that he voted for you.”

Chuck blushes and looks away, mouth dry all over again, mortified at the idea that Sam knows what kind of asshole he used to be and... despite this, telling him that Cas copped to being one of the very few folks who voted for him. “I know I haven’t changed enough.”

“You have. You’ve grown up a lot. He told me what you did for your parents. And how much you help him. And why you were willing to help us lie about Dean’s little _incident_.”

“Because I’m an asshole,” Chuck nods, “with little respect for authority.”

“You’re a dyed-in-the-wool punk. You’re clean and precise and you play by their rules, but you want to overthrow them and you’d prefer having the freedom to screw them at every opportunity, legally and up-close. It’s the coolest thing I think I’ve ever heard,” he squeezes Chuck’s hand and reaches over to make him turn his head. “I’ve tried to follow the rules, too. But I’ve always been jealous that Dean has no problem resorting to wild abandon and getting arrested. I’ve never been able to do that. I’ve always felt like it was too dangerous with nobody there to back me up.”

“He won’t back you up?” Chuck’s eyes narrow and he gets a little angry. “What, is he the only one allowed to break the rules??”

“He doesn’t want me to—he.” Sam sighs and rolls his eyes. “When I _have_ broken the rules or... the law,” he shrugs, “Dean’s always stepped up to take the blame. He wants it on him. He doesn’t want me to have to face the consequences. And I don’t want him to take that blame, so I’ve been... good. I’ve tried to color in the lines and shit.”

“Me, too.” Chuck blinks and it dawns on him. “We could be a good team. For that. For. You know. That and other... stuff.”

He can see that Sam agrees, but he doesn’t say so right away. He comes in a little closer and presses a kiss to Chuck’s mouth. “I think so.”

Chuck’s other hand comes up to touch his cool, damp hair and he kisses him back. “I promise I’m not the same idiot I used to be as a kid. I’m, like, petrified that you’ll think of me like-”

“I won’t. I don’t—he didn’t make it seem like you were a jerk. You always cared, and it was maybe too much. People around here don’t seem to adapt too well to that. But things are gonna change. Cas has some friends around here with organic farms like yours. People raising emus and stuff,” he laughs a little.

“Emus are... really great,” he tries not to say it but it just kinda comes out. “I’d have free-range chickens if I wasn’t worried they’d get into my crops. I think I might have to get some anyway. I’ve already kinda picked out names,” Chuck confesses.

“We can build a big-wide place for them,” Sam whispers and kisses him again. “I’ll help. I wanna be a part of what you guys are building here. Even if I have to get one of those dumpy apartments, I really wanna stay.”

“That’s so amazing,” he bursts. “It’s so rare for people to want to stay here. There’s a few people like Jo and Cas and them but so many others have sold off their land. The corporations are creeping in and I hate the thought of that. All the toxins and stealing water and-”

“I know,” Sam smiles. “See, this? This is exactly why we have to get you on the town council. And if we can’t? Probably a county seat. So you can destroy the things that foster the big companies, but you can do it from the inside, out. Nice and clean and legal but also mean and dirty.”

“And we can keep it quiet around here. And healthy,” he knows he’s almost starry-eyed with the idea. “Bees and trees.”

Sam laughs again and draws them both to stand. “Bees and trees. Can I be the founding member of your campaign committee?”

Oh gosh. “I don’t know about that part,” he shakes his head. “Maybe I just wanna stay here and make the farm better until I can buy more land.”

“That’s fine, too,” Sam shrugs. “Just let me be a part of this.”

Chuck is so blown away. “You really wanna stay in this dumpy little place and-”

“Make it into an idyllic, cooperative, bleeding-hearted liberal’s paradise? Yeah.” He’s joking but he’s not joking even a little bit. “You wanna know a secret?”

“Okay?”

“Dean doesn’t wanna build stuff forever. He’s already sick of his back hurting. He wants to open a farm-to-table kitchen. I keep walking in on Dean and Cas making kissy faces and Cas promising to help him buy one of the vacant buildings in town. I really think they’re gonna do it.”

“That would be stupidly fucking cool. You guys really aren’t leaving,” Chuck marvels.

Sam beams at him and kisses his head. “Come on. Dinner. As much as I do want to follow you around and become an anti-establishment farmer with you? I have to admit, I’m... mainly here for you.” He leans down and kisses Chuck properly, then. Pulls him close and kisses him deep. “You have to tell me all about you. I know we’ve been talking while we work,” he draws Chuck towards the bedroom to get his wallet out of his bag and gather his shoes, “but you’ve been holding back. I think you were concerned about being a good ‘employer.’”

“Mm. I was,” Chuck admits, getting his keys.

“I couldn’t even tell you liked me back, so drop it, okay? It’s all good. No more paychecks. I don’t care about the fucking irrigation.”

He knows exactly why that is. He really was restraining himself. He didn’t want to pour out messy emotions on Sam or run him off. Chuck really did want him to like this place.

He wanted Sam to stay. He’s so smart and kind and he’s exactly what this place should be about. When it’s no longer about the whiny old jerks who sit in their chairs all day, judging the people who have come back to build this place up again, just because they’re doing it the ‘new-fangled’ way.

Chuck stops by the front door. “I’ve been alone for a while. I donno, I think I’ve got baggage and I never worked it out because it was too much work. With all the old folks pointing at me and talking behind my back. About how I’m the queer. And an uppity kid with too many pretensions.”

Sam squeezes his arm. “I’ve heard that before and it’s all bullshit. They’ll shut up when you’re not the exception anymore. It’ll be you and me and Dean and Cas and their friends and we’ll be the rule, not the exception. Look at how much you’ve done on your own already! You’ve been here by yourself for years and they’re still fucking talking down to you?” Sam shakes his head and urges him out of the house, takes the keys and locks up for him. Even goes to the car and opens the driver’s side door for him.

“When we’re the rule, though, doesn’t that mean people will be rebelling against _us?_ ” Chuck points out once he’s settled in the car, pushing the seat way back.

“Maybe. But we’ll be smart enough to listen to what they’re saying. That’s the difference, isn’t it?”

Chuck considers the old folks, all stuck in their ways and immovable. And then he considers how his own parents actually listened to him and let him do his thing. They let him set them up for retirement and they’re off, away from all the toil, enjoying themselves while he builds this place.

And he does build this place. Maybe the wine grapes won’t work. The cherry trees were a resounding failure. But the kiwis weren’t.

You just keep working. Learning. Trying.

He listened to Cas and learned about bees. The kiwis haven’t just helped him, they’ve helped Cas’s honey. He went to Cas to see if Dean could help him and he ended up with Sam’s amazing new irrigation system. And some new friends.

And Sam, himself.

Give and take.

Chuck reaches to gather up Sam’s hand and kisses over his knuckles once. Sam smiles.

Chuck starts the car knowing, one day, they’ll probably just be able to walk down the road to have dinner with Dean and Cas. Or take a quick trip to Dean’s restaurant. Where Cas’s honey will be in the tea and Jo’s fruit will top the salads and Ash’s ancient grains will be in the bread and where his own berries will be on the dessert menu.

Maybe he’s spent a lot of the past few years doubting he’d make it, but now he knows this is his place. This is his town and his home and he won’t lose what he built here, not even in a storm.

He can do this. They can do this.

«»

Sam gives Chuck his driver’s license for his birthday. Like, _his own_ driver’s license, the one that says “Winchester, Sam – Hair: Brn – Eyes: Grn” etc.

Because it’s been issued in this state and it’s got their address listed as his own and because he knows Chuck has giant fucking issues.

Drifter no more, Sam also gives him the voter ID he signed up for while he was at the DMV.

Chuck really has tears in his eyes when he reaches up to kiss him. It’s absurd, but it actually is the best birthday present he could have hoped for.

He’d have to file, soon, if he was gonna run for office, but they’ve talked it out and he doesn’t want to do that quite so soon, again. They all pitched in to help Cas buy the building and help Dean renovate the space that’s gonna be his restaurant. Chuck wants to focus on his vines and the student interns and helping with Cas’s land as Dean gets the business off the ground.

They’re gonna help each other for a while. They’re gonna help the other farmers, too. And make this place what it needs to be from the floor, up.

And they already helped Meg sabotage a deal that the county made to have a bottled water company move in and suck the groundwater dry. The Winchesters orchestrated the illegal part, and Cas and Chuck helped make it look like it was the company’s fault.

It makes Chuck feel a little bit armed and dangerous and he _likes it_.

Even if he’s only _armed_ because Sam scoops him up and pulls him into his lap, into his strong arms and uses them to cage him there until they’ve made out so long they’re panting for breath.

“Got another present for you,” Sam finally admits after a while. “Wanna get ready to go outside?”

He considers rebelling, as he always does. It’s his birthday and he could sleep in or he could have Sam ravish him – he’s pretty sure he could even convince Sam to help him Molotov the fucking Panera that’s being built down the highway from them, but he won’t. At least... not right now.

He dons his big hat and Sam pockets his gloves for him, for now, and they go outside. Then they go right instead of left. And Chuck has an idea what his present will be. He grabs Sam’s arm and starts “oh my god”-ing before they even get to the little fence.

Behind the little fence is the coop Sam built and in the coop is a pile of towels around a box.

The box is loud!!  
There are babies in the box!!

There are six little baby chickens in the box. He’s ecstatic. They’re tiny and fuzzy and yellow and brown. Sam doesn’t make fun of him at all for cooing at them and calling them his babies and naming them instantly and turning around and clinging to him until he almost has to carry him away from the chickens’ new house to press him to a wall and kiss him silly.

“I’ll buy you a cow for Christmas,” Sam promises nonsensically, “you’ll never have to buy eggs again and you can make your own butter. I’ll... dig a well.”

Chuck laughs.

“I’ll help you raise goats,” Sam can’t stop kissing him. “Ducks.”

Chuck laughs some more. He knows Sam will do it all, too. He already rebuilt the solar set-up on the roof and converted all the irrigation and planted fruit trees with him.

He really is here and here to stay. They have _six babies_ and a lot of berries to sell. And they have so much more they want to do for each other.

“I’ll run for mayor for you,” Chuck answers, only half-joking.

“Oh my god,” Sam has to be stopped from carrying him back inside. “Yes, Mr. Mayor,” he kisses down his jaw, to his neck, and up again.

Yeah, Chuck knew he belonged here. He just didn’t think he’d _love it so much_ to know exactly where he belonged and he thought he’d have to do it all alone. He was afraid his inner rebel would send him screaming off away from here after one failure too many. It’s sunrise and Sam is home and Chuck has so many amazing new things he gets to keep. He gets to try and fail and get back on his feet each day and try again and Sam has his back. His friends do, too.

Also, fuck it, maybe he _is_ going back to bed because Sam won’t stop chanting about how much he loves him. As much as he wants to eat breakfast and listen to Sam singing over the harvest, the farm will be here all day.

It’s not going anywhere.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, Sam Winchester.  
> I want every good thing for you.


End file.
